2am Musings
by Elialys
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 'BLOODLINE' 'Olivia thought she knew about love, a few months ago. Now, all her assumptions had been shaken, broken, remolded, and she was left feeling raw and exposed.'


**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything or anyone in Fringe. Even though I love them all, and I love to pretend they are all mine XD

**Spoilers: UP TO 3x18 'BLOODLINE'**

**Pairing: **Altlivia/Lincoln (Leeham)

**Rating:** K+

**A/N:** Hi guys :) So here's my post 'Bloodline' story. Since I was quite cruel with Altliv in my 'pre-Bloodline' fic, I tried to go easy on the angst this time. Thus, this contains a good amount of Altlivia/Lincoln fluff. Altliv/Mini!Peanut fluff as well. But since this is basically Altlivia's thoughts in the middle of the night, it is just as messy as her head and heart, so the structure of this story is…well, I don't know, I think it's fitting :p It's fluffy AND angsty. YUM YUM.

Sorry for the mistakes and all, it's unbetaed, and school is killing my French brain.

Enjoy :)

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><p><strong>2AM MUSINGS<strong>

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><p>Olivia opened her eyes exactly five seconds before her son's cries started to fill the room, echoing from the baby monitor.<p>

She stretched her body out, allowing herself a few moments to moan into her pillow, and grieve the fact that she was about to leave her warm bed after barely three hours of sleep. But despite the fact that her child was still crying and that she definitely had to get out of bed, she smiled into the fabric. Once again, she was amazed by the fact that she had awoken just before him. It had been happening for a few days now, and it made her feel the most delicious ache in her heart.

It made her feel like a mom.

She finally kicked the covers away and stumbled out of the room, making her way to her son's, all the while running a hand through her disheveled hair. If she waited too long, her mom would wake up, and would not resist the urge to come and see if she could help. She knew Olivia was more than fine dealing with the middle of the night feedings, but Marilyn never missed a chance to put her eyes and hands on her grandson. She was actually usually the one feeding him when he woke up again around 6am; Olivia didn't like abusing her mother's glee and kindness, but in all honesty, she didn't mind the few extra hours of sleep either.

Both mother and child were currently residing at the Dunham's house in Tarrytown. It was bigger than Olivia's place, which didn't even have a room for her son; it also made it easier for Marilyn to be the smothering mother and grandmother she was craving to be. The fact that Olivia didn't have to drive to work every day helped, too. The Secretary had insisted that she took at least a month off work. The idea had baffled her at first –a month! But now, having spent the last three weeks entirely devoted to her child had already started to shift her perspective.

She missed work, of course. She really did, especially when she listened to Charlie and Lincoln brag about their latest accomplishment every time they came and visit –which was a daily occurrence for Lincoln. She would look at them teasing each other endlessly, and she would feel the strangest kind of emotion. It was like she was watching them through a veil, because she knew things would never be the same for her, now. She longed to go back to work, and yet, the idea of leaving her baby alone with her mother all day come next week was already distressing her.

She guessed every new mom must feel the same way. She had no idea what to expect. Like Marilyn had said a few hours after his birth, she would figure things out as she went. In the mean time, all she needed to do was love him.

And God, did she love him.

When she reached his crib, the smile was already back on her face, tugging at the corner of her lips, despite the fact that he was still crying unhappily. She knew it was just hunger. She loved that she could tell now.

"Hey, baby boy…" she whispered as she picked him up.

She pressed a soft and lingering kiss on his cheek, breathing in his scent, and feeling the now familiar stretch in her breasts, as milk rushed in there. Another thing that was pretty amazing, if you asked her.

Once in the hospital, the doctors had told her that she would actually be able to breastfeed. She would need to take some supplements and medications to help regulate her hormones, though, because they were about to get 'wild' according to them. Apparently, it would appear that skipping thirty weeks of pregnancy had a tendency to confuse your body –that was surprising, really. They also said she shouldn't be alarmed if she felt emotionally unstable for a while.

She was reluctant about breastfeeding at first. She felt like she wasn't ready, despite the fact that her aching breasts were proclaiming that she definitely was. It was fear, mostly. She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do it _right_.

But the nurse who was in the room with them was patient and kind, showing her how to hold him, giving her helpful tips, assuring her that he would know just what to do, and so would she. What if they didn't, though? What if the lack of time he had spent inside of her had somehow deprived them of this natural connection?

She shouldn't have worried. He instantly found what he wanted, latching on fervently and quite forcefully for such a tiny man. His tiny fist curled up against her chest as he sucked hungrily, as if holding her close. As if saying '_Mine_.'

_Mine_.

Olivia was not prepared. She was not prepared for any of this. She was certainly not prepared for the incredible feeling that took hold of her as she stared at her child, _feeling_ him. Somehow, it was as if this bond they never had the chance to create because they weren't given either the time or the choice, was now knitting itself, and it was so strong and so visceral that she found herself unable to breathe for a moment. When she eventually let the air out in a loud and shaky breath, she put a warm, protective hand over her baby's head, ignoring the tears quietly making their way down her cheeks. She had been warned, after all.

She was definitely emotionally unstable.

She, who had spent so many years not shedding a single tear, not since her sister had died; now barely a day went by without her starting to _bawl_ over the most ridiculous things. She was a mess. One minute, she was so incredibly happy and delighted, and the next, she felt like she would just fail. She would fail at motherhood, and she would fail her son. She cried watching stupid soap operas on TV with her mom, she cried when they ran out of diapers that time last week, she cried when Charlie brought a stuffed toy –a spider, and said his _girlfriend_ had helped pick it out. She cried in the shower, happy tears, distressed tears, angry tears, you name it. She cried while pumping, she cried in her bed, she cried nursing, she cried driving the car. It was quite embarrassing, honestly. She didn't cry _all the time_, of course, and it wasn't always big, ridiculously loud sobs, but still.

She had realized that she never cried when Lincoln was here, however. It didn't mean that her screwed up hormones didn't act up in a different way, though.

She had discovered that there was something incredibly _sexy_ about that man holding her child.

Which in turn meant that she did not let this happen that often, despite the fact that Lincoln was 'passing by' every single day without exception. He had said once or twice that it was simply to 'check on them', but Olivia was very well aware of the fact that she and her baby were under close protection, and that he read all the reports. Most of the time, he came by after work and only stayed for a few minutes. Other times, he almost made himself at home, like this morning.

He was off work for the day, and he had brought donuts, one of Olivia's biggest cravings these days –along with coffee, which she couldn't have drunk even if there had been any around. Marilyn was out of the house; they had 'important people' coming for dinner that night, and she was out of her mind, insisting that she needed to find avocados.

Lincoln's arrival was perfect. The baby had regurgitated most of his last feeding all over her over an hour ago, and she was in desperate need of a shower. She dropped the drowsy child in his arms, forcing herself not to focus too long on this image so it wouldn't awake her crazy hormones, before pushing almost a full donut into her mouth and disappearing in the bathroom. She was done in a few minutes; she came out in her robe, drying her hair with a towel, to check on them before getting dressed.

She found them in the baby's room, Lincoln changing his diaper. Or trying. She had to stop at the doorway, leaning against the frame. She bit her lip in endearment and a bit of something else. He was talking to him in that ridiculous baby voice she herself used 24/7 nowadays.

"Oh yes, that was one, big, big pee-pee diaper. Uncle Lincoln was right to check, your tushy was all wet." She couldn't help a chuckle, and he eyed her, half scornfully, half approvingly, before turning his eyes back on her child, his tone now overly mushy: "Who forgot to change your diaper, buddy? You know I'm here if you have any complaint, right? What's that? Oh, she's really pretty so it makes up for it?"

Olivia knew what was about to happen a second before it did, and she straightened up. "Watch out, he's gonna-"

But that was a second too late. Next thing Lincoln knew, he was being hosed. He protested loudly, letting out a curse, but she was too busy laughing heartily to call him on it, as she hurriedly joined them at the changing table, dropping her towel over her son's weapon to absorb the last of his blast. The poor child was now moaning softly, having been startled by Lincoln's shout.

"Okay, boss, first thing to know about changing a boy's diaper," she said as she expertly started cleaning her baby up again, making crazy faces so he would stop whining. "Always have a clothe nearby, and be on your guard. It comes out faster than your and Charlie's banters, and it's almost always unpredictable."

"You knew it was gonna happen, though," he pointed out, arms still stretched out, as if he was scared to touch his own shirt.

"Well, I've seen it happen enough times to get the clues," she chuckled, dressing him up now. She shamelessly put a pacifier in his mouth, and it worked wonders again, his eyes starting to close already.

Lincoln looked down at his chest, shaking his head, "Gotta say, he's got his mama's aim. Shot me right in the heart."

She laughed again softly, now cuddling her sleeping child, nuzzling her nose in his soft hair before putting him down in his crib, and turning back to the helpless man. He did look helpless, now pulling on his shirt slightly so it wouldn't stick to his chest, and she couldn't help but grin. She grabbed a wipe, and slapped his hand away so she could try and clean him up a little.

"You're making fun of me," he said, pretending to be hurt.

"I didn't say anything," she retorted, eyes on his shirt.

"The way your smile is mocking me says enough. Have mercy, your child just peed on me."

"He's just being possessive, marking his territory."

He huffed, and she briefly looked up; she looked back down right away, though, because they were extremely close and she should really just focus on his wet shirt.

"Why would he even consider me as a treat?" He asked innocently.

Her grin really couldn't get any wider. "Oh I don't know," she answered using the same tone. "Maybe because he heard you declare your love to me while he was literally trying to get out of me. Remember? You even cried."

He stopped her then, grabbing her hands gently and she looked up. He was smiling too, even though blushing slightly, and it was incredibly adorable. "For one thing, I thought we had agreed that the whole crying and declaration on love thing could be blamed on you presumably dying. Also, we had sworn not to mention it again. _Ever_."

She offered him her most devilish smile. "Uh uh," she shook her head, trying to ignore the feel of his hands on hers. "I agreed not to mention the crying part to Charlie. _You_ swore the rest. You actually pinky-sworn. With my two days old baby."

He sighed dramatically. "I thought we were buddies, BFFs. I was wrong."

"Awww," she squeezed his fingers. "Time will heal the wound, I swear."

He looked down at the crib, smirking. And even though the baby was fast asleep, he spoke to him: "Whatever, I'm not upset. But just so you know, I've seen pictures of your father, and I'm sorry to say you have his nose."

She freed her hands in an instant so she could shove him, teasingly but quite forcefully actually. "Ooooh, you are borderline, mister. Do not criticize my son's physical appearance, which is _perfect_, by the way."

He raised his hands apologetically. "Fine, fine, take his side. I think you are blinded by the whole 'mother 'slove' thing, though. It's your hormones talking."

And as she stared at his teasing smile and twinkling eyes, she could honestly agree that her hormones were fogging her mind. She wouldn't mind trying and clean his shirt again, simply to put her hands back on his chest and feel his body close to hers.

Instead, she playfully threw the dirty wipe at his face, because this would _not_ be smart; no one should be impulsive while under the influence of raving hormones.

As Olivia changed her child's diaper, hours later, she couldn't help but smile softly at the memory, even though it felt a little bittersweet now. Everything was bitterer in the middle of the night; she had come to realize that. She finally settled down in the easy chair to feed him, trying to keep her mind blank, but knowing it was a lost battle.

The 2am feedings were always the hardest.

It wasn't because she had to get out of bed; it had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and everything to do with the fact that it basically was the only time of the day when she was completely alone with him, with nothing to distract her and keep her from over-thinking. No mother babbling around the house, no TV turned on to keep her mind focused, no dog trying to lick the baby's head.

It was only the two of them in the quiet stillness of his room, except for the small noises he made while feeding, and she could never stop her thoughts from deviating.

Her mind lingered on Lincoln a little longer. She very well knew that he had been more than honest when he had said he loved her; he'd had absolutely no reason to lie, as they both thought she was minutes away from dying. He hadn't been expecting an answer, and she was incredibly grateful for the simple fact that _he_ had been there with her, during the most terrifying moment of her life, making her feel like even though she didn't want to go, _she didn't want to go_, she would at least go knowing that she had been loved.

Sure, they were joking about it all now, because really, what else could they do but laugh about it? That was how they dealt with things, Lincoln, Charlie and she. They joked and teased each other about everything that was actually too painful to talk about. Because in all honesty, there was nothing funny about the memory she kept of that night.

The light was too bright and the air too thick, the scent of some exotic incense permeating the room. Even though her skin was covered with sweat and she was shaken by tremors of pain and fear, she remembered feeling so cold, as if the warmth of her own body was escaping her a little faster with each new wave of pain. And every time she pushed, she felt death's grip tightening around her, smothering her, and all she had hoped for was a miracle.

_Take me but please please please let him live_.

Lincoln's words and despair had made her feel a little more grounded. She wanted to put a hand on his wet cheek, wipe this beautiful man's tears. She loved him, she really did. Just not in the way he would have wanted her to. Maybe if they'd had more time. She could almost see their potential, had there been more time. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to love him back. But she was dying, and ultimately, her heart was aching for one person and one person only.

So she had entrusted him with her most precious possession.

"_Promise me you'll save the baby."_

He had promised. And she hadn't died. But she knew he would never forget his words, even if she never came around to love him back. Whatever happened, he would save her child.

Because she feared for her child more than she had ever feared for anyone else. She guessed that came with loving him more than she had ever loved anyone else.

Olivia thought she knew about love, a few months ago. Now, all her assumptions had been shaken, broken, remolded, and she was left feeling raw and exposed. In the past, she had always loved because loving had brought something to her life. Some excitement, some warmth, a sense of normality. It had been a selfish kind of love, and she had no shame admitting it. Olivia cared deeply for people and had an intense need to play the hero and protect people, but ultimately, she was playing to win. She was in for her own benefits.

The love she felt for her son was terrifying, because it was a completely selfless kind of love. She feared for him, all the time. She feared for what had been, for what could have happened, and for what would happen to him in this crumbling world.

She sat in the darkness of his room, staring into his eyes. She knew most babies fell asleep while nursing. Her boy didn't. Her boy stared back, intensely, and she drowned into this beautiful shade of blue, her thoughts inexorably drifting away, as they always did. Tonight was even harder than usual. A few hours ago, she had met someone who had the exact same eyes.

Elizabeth Bishop's blue eyes had filled up with tears, the first time she had seen her grandchild.

She arrived alone, apologizing for the Secretary's absence; he had urgent matters to take care of. Olivia was relieved, to be honest. She simply couldn't trust him anymore, especially when she saw the greed and machination on his face whenever he looked at her child. She had been incredibly nervous about meeting Elizabeth, not knowing how she was supposed to act, or what she would say. What did she know about her and her son? Would she resent her? Blame her? Again, she worried too much.

Elizabeth was kind and warm, and Marilyn was delighted, doing most of the talking. When she left them to go take care of her dinner in the kitchen, Olivia nervously asked her if she wanted to go see the baby. She then stood awkwardly next to the crib, as she watched the woman tear up, looking down at the infant. He was awake, looking up almost curiously at his grandmother.

"May I?" Elizabeth asked softly, taking her eyes away from him to look at her; they were bright with tears.

"Sure," she answered with a nod, and she watched as she picked him up, with a confidence that only women having held babies before had.

She didn't say anything, letting her have this quiet moment. She felt the strangest kind of ache, watching them. When she was around the Secretary, she had often wondered how his son could have turned out so much…_softer_. She understood now, because Elizabeth's kind demeanor made her feel like _he _was in the room with them, and she had to suppress her own tears for a moment (damn hormones). Truth be told, she also felt this woman's pain, which was new and unusual –she wasn't exactly the most empathic person on earth.

She had pondered on 'Peter Bishop's kidnapping' before, first as part of her Mission, then on a more personal level. During her time Over There, even though everything was mostly the same yet slightly different, she had always felt…_off_, somehow; this wasn't her world. And she had watched this man being so at ease in this world that wasn't his either. Somewhere along the way, it had become his real home.

What she felt now was different. For the first time, she thought about what it must have been like for his parents; for Elizabeth. To have her boy stolen from her like that, she could only imagine her pain. She could understand her unshed tears.

"He looks just like him," Elizabeth whispered with a sad smile, gently rocking him. She looked up at her, then, her smile teasing now. "I hope he gets your nose, though."

Remembering Lincoln's comment a few hours ago, she couldn't help but chuckle, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Seriously, there was _nothing_ wrong with her boy's nose. And she told her so, like every good mother would: "His nose is perfect."

"Of course it is." Elizabeth smiled for a few more seconds, before her eyes fell back on the now sleeping child, and her face darkened again. It was another minute before she spoke again, not looking at her. "How is he? Peter." She did glance at her then, offering her the smallest, heartbroken smile. "I only saw him for a few hours, when he was Here. A few hours in twenty-five years is hardly enough for me to know anything about him. You, on the other hand, have spent quite some time with him, according to Walter. And obviously…" she nodded her head toward the baby, living proof of how close Olivia had been to her son.

Olivia wrapped her arms tighter around herself. The first images that flashed into her mind were her last moments with him.

She remembered the cold anger, the deep, furious disappointment. His entire being had been screaming of betrayal, as he came to realize just how much she had manipulated him, on so many intimate levels. She was an impostor, a liar. She had abused of his trust.

Of his love.

Somehow, she highly doubted that it was what Elizabeth wanted to hear about.

So she cleared her throat, before answering in a voice that was a little too hoarse: "He's…a good man. A kind, honest man. He cares deeply for the people he loves."

"_No, I'm gonna get answers. And if I find out that you did anything to Olivia, then I'm going to kill you."_

Elizabeth nodded, smiling sadly again. "As I'm sure he would do for his son, if there was a way for him to know."

This hurt way more than it should, more than she had the right to feel. There was no trace of accusation in the other woman's voice, only a sad acceptation. Like the rest of her team, Elizabeth seemed to believe that Olivia and Peter had grown close while she was on her Mission.

They didn't know that getting close to him _was_ the Mission.

Of course, one could discuss how close she had been expected to get, and how out of hand things had gotten.

Alone with her child in his dark room, with no other sounds than the soft, contented noises he was making, Olivia always thought about Peter.

She wondered if he would really care for his son, was he given the choice. He was, after all, the physical proof of what they had done. Of what she had made him believe, of how she had fooled him, used him. She knew all too well by now how it felt like, to have a constant reminder of a painful, shameful act, even though she could _never_ regret her child, not now. But she did have regrets.

There was nothing quite like having to care for –and being painfully in love with- a being so innocent and pure, to make you grasp the gravity of your mistakes and sins.

It was another kind of fear. The fear that all the wrongs she had done would impact her son's life, would hurt him somehow. Because she couldn't lie to herself; she knew it was already the case. Because of her, he would grow up without his father. She knew he would never lack of a father figure –Lincoln would make sure of that- but it didn't change the truth. The fact remained that her blind actions had deprived both father and child of each other.

She refused to think that Peter would resent him, though, or even worse, hate him. He had every right to, after what she had done, but the simple idea of this sweet, defenseless child being at the other end of so much negativity and hatred was unbearable, and it broke her heart in the most painful way. He could hate her as much as he wanted, as much as she deserved him to. He could wish her dead, and even decide to act on that wish. Even if she hoped he wouldn't, ultimately, she knew she would take it all, if it meant that he would not blame his son for her mistakes.

So she looked into her baby's eyes, and remembered his father's. She remembered the sincerity she had found there, the deep-seated goodness that had been her downfall. And quietly wiping the tears that had fallen on the soft skin of his face, immersed into her musings and wishful thinking, she chose to believe that if the time ever came for him to make a choice, Peter would do right by his son.

_Na einai kalitero anthropo apo ton patera tou._

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><p><strong>FIN<strong>

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><p><strong>AN:** I pondered on the idea of having Altliv actually whisper the words to her son, even though she doesn't even know about Elizabeth doing it when Peter was a child, because you know, I think it's pretty neat. But then, I don't want people thinking I have reasons to believe Peter is a bad father. Because he's not. I'm sure he would/will care deeply for his boy. I think Altliv would be saying more to Peter, through her son…see what I mean? No? XD

Anyway, I hope you liked it :) Please, tell me what you think! HOW ADORABLE IS MINI!PEANUT, SERIOUSLY? (yes, I am a baby!freak, just in case that fic wasn't proof enough XD).

PS: I swear my next story is going to be that Polivia!showerfic (smut) I promised ages ago. I need it to survive the hiatus X_X


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